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Oakes scowls.

“Further, you earned that punch and now you’ll take it like a man and move on.” Steve pauses, waits for Oakes to nod tersely, then transfers his glare to me, his eyes—so much like Ace’s—blazing into mine. “What Oakes did was a dick move. But you got your payback. Now it’s over.”

I don’t make him wait for my nod of agreement, even though the look on Oakes’s face is screaming that this is very much not over.

“Good,” he mutters, snagging the football and moving toward the house. “Now I’m hungry, so what the fuck are we having for dinner?”

TWENTY-TWO

Ace

She’s not looking at me.

She hasn’t looked at me from the moment I lifted her into my arms and carried her upstairs to the bathroom, setting her on the closed toilet and then rummaging through the vanity until I found the first aid kit.

The good thing is that with five brothers once living in this house, injuries weren’t uncommon, so it’s there and when I unzip it, I find it fully stocked.

My mom may be…a lot.

But she’s always taken care of the little details.

And there’s never been any doubt that she loves us.

Now if she could just love herself enough to fix her relationship…

And since that’s not going to ever happen, I focus my attention elsewhere. Namely, I wonder if Violet had that same certainty of love with her mom before she died…and then I think of the ice that Vi clings to so tightly, hiding the fire within and know⁠—

Likely not.

Still, as I crouch down next to her, I find myself asking, “What was your mom like?”

She goes stiff.

Ramrod stiff.

“Why do you care?” she grits out.

I study her clenched jaw, the rigid lines of her shoulders, the way she still won’t look at me, and know that this is a contract, a means to an end. Know that I shouldn’t push it.

But I still do.

Though, I do it with caution.

“Shouldn’t I know some basics considering that we’re engaged?”

“Fake engaged,” she mutters.

“Right,” I agree, wrapping my fingers around her wrist and lifting her hand, getting a better look at her scrapped up palms. “Fake engaged.” Since they’re not bad, I move to her knees, thinking that while Oakes is an asshole, at least they’re relatively unscathed as well.

They’re abraded and grass-stained, but it’s nothing some clean-up and a couple of bandages won’t fix.

“So?” I ask.

Still no icy blue eyes on mine. “So what?” she replies coolly.

I pull out a sanitizing wipe and tear it open, shaking it to unfold it. “What was your mom like?”

Silence.